


Typical Brothers

by KatieBug1998



Series: Supernatural One-Shots, Sick Fics, Injured Fics, and Hurt/Comfort [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Reader-Insert, Sibling Reader, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 23:15:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10398336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieBug1998/pseuds/KatieBug1998
Summary: Sam and Dean are really good brothers, but they get a little weird (not kinky weird) when the reader/sibling is sick.





	

Sam knocks on the door and walks into your room. "I'm about to go to the store. Is there anything you want me to add to the list?" He holds out a piece of paper. When you reach out to take it, he pulls it back, away from you. "Oh, no. I'm not letting you touch this; you'll get your germs all over it."

"You guys are the worst," you complain. Once you figured out that you had the flu, Sam went out and came back with a box of face masks like the ones from doctor's offices. He and Dean put them on anytime they went into your room. They wouldn't let you go into any other rooms except the bathroom, and they insisted on the using the other one. "I may be the younger sibling, but you two are the children."

"Hunters can't afford to get sick, (y/n), so until you're better, we're taking precautions."

"Whatever. Let me see your damned list." He holds it out to you. "Yeah, that's everything. Can you hand me that -" You're cut off by an unexpected coughing fit. You cover your face with the inside of your elbow. It stops fairly quickly. You look around to see Sam setting the paper down on the bedside table. He gets a good helping of hand sanitizer from the bottle on the table. He takes a picture of the list with his phone. "Maybe you should get some gloves and those thin gown things they use in the ICU at hospitals," you say drily.

"That'd be a good idea."

"Are you serious?" you ask, annoyed.

"Maybe. Anyway, I'll go to the store. Dean is making soup." You groan. "Come on, you haven't eaten all day."

"Fine," you concede.

"Good. See you later."

"See you later," you say mockingly.

Sam laughs and leaves.

You only get about ten minutes of shut-eye before Dean's comes in.

"Hey, kiddo, how you feeling?" You flip him off. "That good, huh?"

You sit up in bed and rub your eyes, annoyed at being woken up. Dean hands you a bowl of soup. "I don't want this." The smell makes you want to hurl.

"Quit whining." Dean shows his brotherly love a bit differently than Sammy. "You need to eat something."

"Even if I throw it up ten minutes later? You'd have to clean it up, you know."

That doesn't phase Dean. Not that you could really tell through the mask anyways. "Hold your nose when you eat it, but let me take your temperature first." He hands you the thermometer, holding it only with his index finger and thumb. You swipe it from him and put it in your mouth. "Next time you're sick, we're dropping you off somewhere. Maybe with Bobby or Charlie or Jody. Jody would probably be good; she has that mothering instinct." You would glare at him, but you don't have the energy to be annoyed anymore. The aches in your muscles and the headache are draining you. Probably the lack of food too. "Wow, you didn't even bitch-face me; maybe there's an upside to you getting sick," he jokes. The crinkles around his eyes show that he's smiling.

The thermometer beeps and Dean takes it out of your mouth. His expression is unreadable because of the mask, so you ask, "What?"

"It's higher than last time." He doesn't sound too concerned.

"I could've told you that," you mumble.

"Yeah, whatever. Eat your soup and try not to puke it up." You make a face. "I'll be right back." He pats you on the head awkwardly. "Okay." He leaves.

You glare at the offending bowl of soup in your lap. Just looking at it and thinking about eating it makes you nauseous. You set it down and lay down on your stomach in the bed, burying your face in the pillow. You swallow, attempting to make the urge to vomit go away.

Dean walks back in soon. He pokes you in the shoulder. "What? Do I gotta do the whole airplane-with-the-spoon thing? That always worked for Sammy." You groan at him. "Listen, dude." You hear him set down the bowl and start wringing the water out of a washcloth. "We just want to make you feel better. I mean, at least give Sam a break. I can take it, but Sam? We all know what a pansy he is." That manages to get a small laugh out of you.

"Gee thanks, Dean," Sam says from the doorway. He must've gotten back early. You laugh again at his annoyance. "How's (y/n) doing?" Sam asks Dean quietly.

"Fever's up," he says quietly, and then louder, "and she/he is being a pain in the ass."

You're too miserable to argue. "Give me that," Sam says to Dean. You turn your head to look up at them. Sam is taking the washcloth from Dean. "Just go; I'll take care of her/him. You're not exactly helping."

"I resent that," Dean says, then leaves.

You put your head back into the pillow and groan again.

"I'm gonna put the washcloth on the back of your neck. It'll help with the fever, but it'll be cold at first." You nod. You jerk when the cloth touches your skin; it's like ice. You force yourself to stay still, not wanting to show any more weakness than you already have. "So, what do I have to do to get you to eat something?"

"Go have sex with a clown."

Sam exhales a laugh. "You're a jerk."

"Baby."

"Idiot."

"Asshat."

"Buttface."

"Whatever." You sigh. "I'll eat when I'm hungry. Go away."

"Your funeral." Sam squeezes your shoulder. "Yell if you need anything." He turns off the light and leaves.

Sam and Dean can be really irritating, but they're good brothers, and you love them.


End file.
